It was time for seasonal transitions at “The Cabin” and alone I was. Befuddled as to where to begin, I was bedraggled. Help would not arrive for another twenty four hours, so trying to make the best use of the time at hand, was important. Surely I could do something on my own besides clean the main quarters.

The gritando (crying) begins. It commences full force in the early morn. Quiet spills round wrapping the screaming child in its arms as peace be still calms. Last night’s rain is still dripping from mango leaves, reflecting shades of deep green covering campus.

With two child car seats newly installed in the backseat, freedom rang within grandma. I could now officially load up the grandkids and take them wherever I so pleased. As nap time was around the corner, I had just enough leeway to do something other than the daily routine.

It begins in the wee hours of play time ... in the youth of let’s pretend ... in the majestic moments when all things are possible. It begins at the whimsical call in childhood when the brain conceives an idea and there is nobody around to tell you why it will not work. Your heart sings a song and within seconds it comes rolling on out in vocal intonations undeniably original. When one feels like having a parade, one gathers the neighborhood and off they march.

The calves came, one by one, dropped into this world by their mamas. Immediately some latched on forming a bond not to be broken. Others are dropped and left in the pasture like baby Moses left in that basket ... except there’s no basket ... just the hard ground grass upon which they landed.

The old pick-up wound its way up the driveway, lumbering along in order to gather the firewood. A tree had been downed holding the potential to provide sustenance of winter warmth for the little family who gathered. The tall frame of a man, along with his son, came to do an honest day’s work.

A question has been forming within. If we believe what we believe, why do we find it so difficult when others do not manifest their belief in exactly the same way? I read in a familiar book that miniscule are our thoughts and much higher are His.

The sacred words of the old hymn had been making their way through my mind repeatedly for some time now, “Be Thou My Vision Lord.” I loved those words, and one day, they jumped to life as I was literally looking to see more clearly.